The boy had been gone for a long time. The old man felt like pressing his emergency button, just for spite. He’d gone through every channel on the telly. There were lots of them now, but mostly it was just rubbish piled on rubbish. Especially in the day. He wondered if they thought only morons watched then, or that people only put their brains in at night. He made another roll-up. It would take away the hunger he was beginning to feel. If the boy wasn’t back soon he’d have to get downstairs himself. He could just about manage it on that stairlift thing they’d put in. He could use the phone there and call him on his mobile.
The old man sat propped up by pillows and enjoyed his smoke. It was a warm day and the smoke mixed with the sunlight to make patterns in the room that he thought pleasing. He watched it drift out of the open window … smoking … it was the only pleasure he had left.
The old man’s thoughts wandered, back to the days when he was young, when his wife Mary was young, and they had it all to look forward to. He saw himself in fine shape, coal-black hair and trim figure, stepping out with the missus before the kids were born. Proud to stand out in the winter cold waiting for the colliery bus, letting the wind rip into him, whilst others packed together in the shelter. He was paying for it now, though. Riddled with arthritis as much as dust. When he tried to walk it felt like he was walking on hot coals and his hips had long given up.
His wife had been a looker, the best in the village. That was where the boy got his looks from, his mother. He shouldn’t be still in the village, looking after his father. That was woman’s work. He couldn’t work the boy out sometimes – his son didn’t seem to have any ambition. By the time he’d popped his clogs, Baldock junior might be forty plus. What would he do then?
The old man coughed, then shrugged his once powerful shoulders. He was not much of a worrier. Things would work out, or not. What people did never seemed to change things much in the end. He’d realised that long ago and driving that tank in the war had made him sure of it. One thing he was sure of was that he’d brought up his son to look after himself. The old man’s head dropped to his chest and he fell asleep again. The half-smoked roll-up fell gently onto the floor.